


pitter-patter

by renecdote



Category: DCU
Genre: Cuddling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hot Chocolate, M/M, Smallville - Freeform, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:42:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27609875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renecdote/pseuds/renecdote
Summary: That’s something they do when they’re out here in Smallville: they watch the weather station every night. In Gotham, Bruce can just look up at the sky and know what the weather is gong to bring, whether it be rain or shine or one of those irksome three-seasons-in-one days. But Smallville…. Smallville is still uncharted territory.Bruce, Clark and a late-night thunderstorm.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 10
Kudos: 88





	pitter-patter

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a tumblr prompt (SuperBat and hot chocolate)

The storm wakes him; thunder loud enough to rattle the house, lashing rain, and lightning so bright each flash hurts his eyes. Bruce lies still for a moment, trying to place himself in the sea of wild weather. Bed. Master bedroom. Kent farm. The space beside him is empty. Bruce frowns and throws back the sheets, venturing out of the cocoon of warmth to find his partner.

The stairs creak on the way down, just as they always do, so Clark definitely knows he’s coming, and when Bruce comes to a stop in the living room doorway, Clark offers a soft greeting without turning his attention from the window. His voice is quiet, even though they’re the only two in the house and they’re both awake.

“What are you doing up?” Bruce asks. 

“Listening.”

“To the storm?”

Clark shakes his head. Then pauses, frowning. “Well, yes, I suppose. When a tornado forms, the fluctuations in air pressure make sounds—patterns that can tell you how big or how small it’s going to be. It’s too low for a human to hear, and too far away, but...”

But Clark isn’t human.

Bruce moves closer, peering out at the dark sky. Another flash of lightning makes the heavy clouds glow in hues of purple. The wind howls a little louder for a moment before dying back down.

“So you’re listening for a tornado.”

Clark ducks his head. “It’s silly, right? The weather station didn’t predict one for tonight.”

That’s something they do when they’re out here in Smallville: they watch the weather station every night. In Gotham, Bruce can just look up at the sky and know what the weather is gong to bring, whether it be rain or shine or one of those irksome three-seasons-in-one days. But Smallville…. Smallville is still uncharted territory. 

“It’s not silly,” he says. He knows there is still damage at the North end of the property from the last time a tornado blew through. Clark spent a whole weekend repairing the roof of the barn. Bruce offered to help but he’d been stuck in Gotham, tracking down armed bank robbers.

Clark smiles over his shoulder, shifting his weight back against Bruce’s chest. Bruce loops an arm over his shoulders, clasping the hand Clark reaches up toward him, and for a long while they just stand there and watch the storm. Bruce counts the seconds between thunder—one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi—until the centre moves past them. He stirs, as if from a daze, when the tension in Clark’s shoulders bleeds out.

“It’s breaking,” he says, turning in the circle of Bruce’s arm, bringing their arms down as he does, so Bruce’s hand settles on his hip. “There might even be sun in the morning.”

Bruce hums, more interested in angling his head for a kiss. Clark kisses back, fingers skimming under the bottom of Bruce’s sleep shirt. They don’t go any further, content in the lazy comfort of this embrace, wrapped in the darkness, broken only by one more flash of faded lightning before the storm is too far away. Only the rain keeps on, steady and dull now against the old roof. 

“We should go back to bed,” Clark sighs against Bruce’s shoulder. 

They should; it’s still the middle of the night.

“Or…”

“Or…?” Bruce echoes.

“Well it’s nice now that it’s only the rain,” Clark says. “And it’s cool enough that we could probably light the fire…”

Bruce shakes his head, amused. It is times like this that he knows exactly why Clark and Dick get along so well. His young charge has talked him into staying up “just a bit later, B, please” after nightmares or late patrols on cozy, rain-soaked nights like these more than once (usually when Alfred is out for the night). He can’t deny that some fire-side cuddling _does_ sound nice though. The storm woke him so thoroughly he’s not sure he could go back to sleep just yet anyway. 

“You do the fire,” Bruce says, pulling away only a little reluctantly. “I’ll make coffee.”

“Hot chocolate.”

Bruce rolls his eyes. “Hot chocolate,” he agrees.

Clark presses closer for one more quick kiss before slipping away. A few seconds later, the back door slams as he heads out to pick a few hopefully-dry pieces of firewood from the pile stacked against the side of the house. Bruce flicks on a lamp and gives his eyes a moment to adjust, then heads toward the kitchen to complete his own task.

Soon, they’re both back on the couch, snuggled together under a large quilted blanket, hot chocolate in one hand, the others tangled together on their laps. 

In the distance, the storm dissipates over the rolling hills and the night grows quiet. 


End file.
